


Whipped Cream and Sprinkles

by Anna_Heyward



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boys Kissing, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:56:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2609321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Heyward/pseuds/Anna_Heyward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel does not like living in New York. It’s loud, and crowded, and the people are rude. It does have one bright spot, however, in the form of one green-eyed street musician who plays guitar at Castiel’s bus stop every morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whipped Cream and Sprinkles

Castiel really disliked New York.

He wasn’t ready to say he hated it, not yet, since he had only been here for a little over three months. His parents had always taught him that _hate_ was a bad word, not one to be used lightly.

Then again, they were the ones who disowned him, so maybe they were wrong.

His brothers all seemed to like it here, though. Gabriel has lived here for six years, and Michael and Lucifer even longer than that. Castiel just tried to remind himself of those facts every time someone bumped into him on the subway without saying “excuse me,” or every time someone let a door slam in his face instead of politely holding it open the way they would’ve done in the South, or every time he tried smiling at someone on the street and all they did was scowl at him instead of smiling back.

The worst, though, was that one time he’d asked the clerk at the grocery store where they kept their olives, because Gabe had wanted olives for their dinner salad but he was out, and the clerk had sneered at him and barked, “We keep ‘em in jars, mistah. Where do you keep ‘em?”

Castiel made it almost all the way back to Gabe’s before he started to cry.

Castiel really disliked New York. It was loud and crowded and the people were rude, and it just wasn’t home.

Although, home wasn’t home now either.

New York did have its moments, though. The pizza was good, for one; way better than anything he had ever gotten in Little Rock. The bagels were good, too, although he couldn’t afford to get them very often since he was saving up to finish nursing school. Central Park was pretty, though he’d only been there once with Gabe and it was too big and intimidating to try going there alone. And Charlie from work was nice, even if she wouldn’t show him her Princess Leia tattoo.

The one thing that always made him smile without fail, though, the one thing that almost made the rest of it worth it, was the guy at the bus stop.

He was always there, playing guitar with his case open for tips. At least, he was always there on weekdays, as long as the weather was nice. Castiel hadn’t yet seen him on the weekends or on days when it was raining, and he wondered what the guy did for money on those days. Maybe the guy didn’t even need the money. He didn’t look homeless or anything, and his guitar was in pretty good condition.

But every day, Monday through Friday, the guy was there, playing his guitar. Sometimes it was classic rock; sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Sometimes it was more classical, like he was practicing his arpeggios or something. And every now and then the guy would bring a book and learn something new, right there on the street with everyone watching and listening.

Those were the days that Castiel most wished he didn’t have to get on the bus right away to get to work. Those were the days Castiel just wanted sit and listen and watch the guy puzzle it out, his brow furrowed, green eyes intense with concentration, tongue peeking out from between his full, pink, probably (definitely) kissable lips.

Oh, yeah. The guy was really cute, too.

He looked about Castiel’s age, maybe a little older, and he seemed perfectly at home there, sitting against the side of the apartment building that always smelled faintly of urine. Castiel wondered for how many months or years he had been sitting there every day, and why he picked that particular spot. Why did he play in the mornings for the commuters and not in the evenings? Did he have a job somewhere, or play gigs in a club somewhere in town, or was playing for change at the bus stop his sole means of making money? Had he always lived in New York, or did he move here because he wanted to, or because he had to, like Castiel did?

Castiel had a million questions about the cute guitar-playing guy at the bus stop, but there was no way he was ever gonna stop and ask. Because if there was one thing that Castiel had learned from three months of living in New York, it was that most strangers here weren’t that friendly.

Nope, he’d just sit there at the bus stop every day, wait on the 7:05 bus that took him to the hospital, and listen.

And if every now and then he dreamed of kissing a cute guy with light brown hair, green eyes, and freckles, well, no one had to know that.

 

* * *

 

Castiel also really disliked holidays.

He didn’t used to, not before. But now at his new job it was becoming increasingly apparent that he was eventually going to start using the word _hate_ when referring to holidays.

Castiel had never expected to get Martin Luther King Day off back in January, since he’d only started working there the week before, and that was probably a holiday better celebrated by his African-American coworkers anyway. Then Presidents’ Day rolled around, a day which Castiel had never really considered a real holiday anyway. Somehow all of his coworkers decided that it _was_ a real, absolutely necessary holiday that required a day off, though, because every single one of them asked off work. As the low man on the totem pole Castiel’s own request for time off was denied, and he was instead scheduled for a double shift.

Castiel definitely saw a pattern emerging when he was scheduled for another double shift on Good Friday. Well, at least this one was a real holiday, unlike Presidents’ Day. He just hoped that by Christmas he would’ve earned enough good will with his boss to warrant one single holiday off.

One could dream, right?

Well then, if he was going to have to spend another stupid holiday working a double shift, he was going to indulge in some Starbucks to help him through it. Paying for coffee was something Castiel rarely did; most of his paycheck went into saving up for school, so things like eating out and paying $5 for coffee in a paper cup with white chocolate mocha flavor and whipped cream and sprinkles on top were too indulgent. Today, though, he was working extra, so he could afford it.

He turned the corner with 5 minutes to spare, almost smiling to himself at the taste of the hot, sweet concoction on his lips. Damn, that was good; it had been far too long since he’d had anything other than the generic swill that the hospital paid for. His smile faded in an instant, though, when he spotted the lone figure sitting there against the wall by the bus stop, guitar in hand with the case open for tips, as always. The rest of the bus stop was completely deserted.

He would be completely alone with the cute guitarist for five whole minutes.

Castiel’s heart beat further and further out of his chest with every step. He didn’t know why he was so nervous; it wasn’t as if he had never sat at the bus stop listening to the guy play before, and it wasn’t as if the guy had ever spoken to anyone. No, all Castiel would have to do would be to sit there on the bench for five minutes, then get on the bus and go to work. He pulled his coat tighter around him against the sudden chill in the air, walked the last few yards to the bus stop, and sat down.

He immediately recognized the song the guy was playing. _Dust in the Wind_ by Kansas. It seemed rather appropriate for the lonely morning. Castiel smiled to himself as he stared into the distance, his back to the guitarist.

It was roughly thirty seconds before the guitar playing stopped.

“Hey, Trench Coat,” the guy called out.

Castiel’s head snapped up. _Is he talking to me?_ Castiel wondered. _And did he just call me Trench Coat?_

“Yeah, you. Trench Coat. Hey, what’s your name?”

Castiel turned around and looked at the guy, really looked at him. He had an excuse to now, after all, since he was spoken to first. The guy wore a faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt and well-worn jeans. His nose was the tiniest bit crooked, and his eyes crinkled as he smiled.

Smiled at Castiel.

“Wh-why do you want to know my name?” Castiel spluttered.

The guy shrugged. “I see you here every day. Just wondered. So, why the trench coat? It’s April.”

“It’s colder here in April than where I used to live,” Castiel muttered, pulling his lapels a little tighter around himself.

“Ah. That explains it. So you’re new here, huh?”

“Just moved here right before Christmas,” Castiel nodded sheepishly. “Why, is it that obvious?”

The guy smiled again.  “A little. But, you know, I’ve been coming out here for over a year, and I’ve only seen you for a couple of months. I was just curious.”

Castiel tipped his head in concession and turned back toward the street, taking long gulp of his coffee.

“Hey, you working today?” the guy asked.

Castiel turned back around, surprised that the guy still wanted to chat with him. He’d never heard the guy say two words to anyone. “Yes,” he answered. “Double shift.”

“That sucks. Thought everybody had the day off today. This place has been pretty deserted,” the guy said as he idly plucked a few strings here and there. “So, what do you do, anyway? You don’t look like a college student.”

“No, I’m not. I-I work at Methodist Hospital, here in Brooklyn.”

“Doing what? You’re too young to be a doctor,” the guy winked.

Castiel’s heart fluttered and he smiled in spite of his nervousness. “No. I work in admissions. Bed control.”

“Sounds impressive. What is that?”

“I assign rooms to patients getting admitted.” Castiel took another sip of his coffee and shook his head. “It’s really not as impressive as it sounds.”

“I think it sounds important,” the guy insisted.

“It’s not, not really. Mostly I just get yelled at over the phone all day.” Castiel fingered the rim of his paper cup. “People yell here a lot.”

“Yeah, they tend to do that,” the guy smirked. “So, you like working there?”

“It’s a job,” Castiel shrugged. “I’m saving up to go back to school.”

“Yeah? For what?”

“Nursing. I had to drop out.” Castiel wasn’t about to tell a total stranger that he was basically forced to drop out of school and move across the country right before Christmas because he came out to his parents and was kicked out of the house. No way, even if the guy was cute. And nice. “I’m hoping to start back in a year or so, if I can save up enough.”

“That’s cool,” the guy nodded, plucking the opening riff from _Nothing Else Matters_.

Castiel eyed the guitarist; the guy seemed so relaxed, like he just enjoyed being out here and playing, regardless of whether anyone else was watching or listening or tipping. Castiel envied the guy’s casual confidence in the midst of such an intimidating city. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Why do you play out here? I mean, so early in the morning.”

“How do you know I don’t stay out here all day?” The guy punctuated his question with another wink, and Castiel felt himself blush.

“I’ve never seen you out here when I get off work.” Castiel shrugged. “I was just curious.”

The guy stopped playing for a second and slapped his hand against the guitar’s body. “I work nights, and I get home around the same time as my 3 roommates are getting ready to leave. It gets crowded.” He turned his eyes back towards the neck of his instrument, watching his fingers as he began plucking out a new tune, one Castiel didn’t recognize. “I started coming out here last year just to unwind, and I guess I kinda liked it.”

Castiel nodded. That made sense; if he’d had to live with 3 other people, he’d probably want to get away from them sometimes as well. He was about to ask what the guy did for work, when the bus rounded the corner. Suddenly he wished he’d gotten up a few minutes earlier so he could’ve stayed out here a little longer.

“Looks like your chariot awaits,” the guy announced. “Hey, good luck with school and all that.”

“Thanks,” Castiel smiled, standing up to meet the bus as it slowed to a stop.

“Hey,” the guy called out again. “My name’s Dean.”

“Castiel,” he replied, pulling his Metro Card out of his pocket.

“Castiel,” Dean repeated. “It’s nice to meet you. See you on Monday?”

Castiel could only nod in response, words having suddenly fled his brain. He climbed on the bus and smiled all the way to the hospital, too distracted by the green eyes and warm smile and the name “Dean” that he didn’t even notice he’d left his $5 coffee at the bus stop.

 

* * *

 

It was a long weekend waiting for Monday, the day he’d see Dean again.

Gabriel was busy with work, spending some 70 hours a week at the bakery these days; spring was apparently a very busy season for him _(“Lotsa weddings this time of year, Cassie!”)_. Michael and Lucifer were also always busy, and they lived all the way in Manhattan anyway. Plus, it wasn’t as if Castiel had spent much time with them since they’d left home all those years ago. He was just 8 years old when Michael left home, 10 when Lucifer left. They were both nice and polite and welcoming the times the brothers had all gotten together, but Castiel had very little in common with his eldest brothers any more.

Mostly Castiel just passed the time alone in his little corner of Gabe’s apartment reading his book and trying not to think about Dean. _Dean._ He’d said the name over and over to himself, a whispered mantra that kept him going through the weekend as he whiled away the hours waiting for Monday morning to arrive.

Dean had said, “See you on Monday.” Did that mean Dean was looking forward to seeing him again? Was Dean flirting, and possibly interested in him romantically? Or was he just being polite since they were sitting there alone, and sitting alone with someone can be awkward when no one speaks?

Castiel went back and forth all weekend, one minute entirely convinced that Dean was gonna ask him out come Monday morning and that they’d have a perfect date and live happily ever after, and that someday Dean would drop down on one knee propose to him at the very same bus stop where they’d met. The next minute he’d be completely dejected, entirely convinced that Dean was just being polite and wasn’t interested in the slightest. Castiel just wished there was some way he could find out Dean’s intentions without having to actually ask; he’d never been the best at reading people, and asking straight out was utterly terrifying.

Finally on Sunday it occurred to Castiel that since Dean’s guitar case was always open, maybe he could casually drop in a piece of paper with his phone number on it. Let Dean know he was interested in talking some more without the pressure of actually having to say the words out loud and risk getting shot down. It took him most of Sunday afternoon to get the words just right, but at last he was satisfied with the result.

 

_Dean,_

_I really enjoyed talking to you on Friday. Maybe we could get together some time and do it again, maybe over dinner?_

_Castiel_

_718-555-0237_

 

Okay, so it wasn’t perfect, but it got the point across. If Dean wasn’t interested then no harm done, and Castiel wouldn’t have to endure the awkward “sorry, I’m not gay,” or the even more awkward “sorry, I was just trying to be friendly” that surely would have come if he’d tried to ask Dean out in person. Because the truth was, there was pretty much no chance in hell that Dean would say yes anyway.

When Monday morning finally dawned the note was burning a hole in Castiel’s pocket as he walked to the bus stop, trying his best to keep his footsteps at an even pace. He’d been up all night trying to tamp down his visions of dropping the note into Dean’s case and hearing Dean’s voice yell out “Yes!” just as he was about to climb onto the bus, and turning around at the last second just in time for Dean to sweep him up into a passionate kiss to end all passionate kisses.

That would never happen, of course. Reality was rarely like romantic comedies.

Castiel rounded the last corner, heart beating out of his chest as he took in the familiar sight of the row of apartments with the bus stop sign in front, looking to that spot where his favorite street musician always sat with his guitar case open, playing whatever struck his fancy that day for reasons unknown to anyone else.

The spot was empty.

There was no guitar case, no guitar, no Dean.

Well, that answered the question as to whether a chance five minute conversation with a nice, cute stranger was going to lead anywhere. Castiel reached into his pocket and withdrew the note, crumpling it up in his hand before tossing it into the nearest trash can.

 

* * *

 

After a week went by with no sign of his guitarist crush, Castiel finally gave up and stopped hoping to see Dean every time he rounded that corner to the bus stop, stopped wishing that he’d randomly run into Dean every time he went to the grocery store, or rode the subway into Manhattan, or walked in Central Park.

Weeks turned into months, and by August Castiel had finally saved enough money to start school. It was going to be a rough couple of years, between classes and clinical rotations at the hospital and working 40 hours a week to pay for it all, but Castiel was ready. He’d even quit the hospital and begun working at Angel Foods after Gabe had to fire Ruby for giving away too many freebies to her friends. It didn’t pay as much as working in admissions had, but it was a lot less stressful, and Michael and Lucifer had been more than generous with lending Castiel tuition money. Turned out his brothers were much cooler than he’d given them credit for.

School was going pretty well, too. Castiel’s instructors were all nice, and took great care to be accommodating to Castiel’s year of absence. His favorite, though, was his clinical instructor, this really cool woman named Pamela Barnes who’d previously worked at the trauma center at St. Luke’s and told the best stories about all the gory stuff she’d seen.

Charlie had even started coming to Angel Foods after Castiel had quit working in admissions, and introduced him to her girlfriend Dorothy and their friends Chuck and Garth. Castiel hung out with them almost every weekend now, when he wasn’t working late to help Gabe finish up one of his wedding cakes. Castiel had gotten pretty good at using the fondant molds, and had recently graduated from some of the simpler embellishments to more complicated stuff like roses. They weren’t as good as Gabe’s, of course, but no one but Gabe and Castiel could tell the difference.

So maybe New York wasn’t _so_ bad. Castiel still didn’t love it, but he didn’t dislike it so much these days.

 

* * *

 

It turned out Castiel still disliked holidays, though.

He didn’t think Labor Day weekend would be that big of a deal, but it seemed like everybody and their brother wanted dozens upon dozens of cupcakes and pastries for Labor Day parties, so the shop had been nonstop busy all day Saturday and Sunday with no sign of letting up. Castiel couldn’t even remember the last time he’d done anything for Labor Day; usually it was just another day off school that he’d spend alone in his room reading. What did people even do on Labor Day that they needed so many pies and cupcakes? And, more to the point, why did Gabe keep the place open until 11:00 p.m. the night before a holiday?

At least the shop would be closed on Monday. Castiel was looking forward to having dinner with Gabe and Lucifer at Michael’s place, and going out to the movies with Charlie and the gang afterward.

If he could just get through the stupid Sunday rush, that was.

He’d just sold the last chocolate mint cupcake when Gabe flagged him down. “Got a call-in order. Can you take care of it? I gotta get this new batch out of the oven.”

“Sure thing,” Castiel replied, taking the ticket from his brother’s hands. Two dozen cupcakes, any variety, for Ellen. He had met the owner of the flower shop next door once or twice, and she was always nice. He’d make sure he picked out some of the best ones.

“She’s sending one of her employees over to pick it up in a few minutes,” Gabe called out from the back as he held two trays of steaming hot cakes in his hands. “Some guy named Dean.”

Castiel felt his heart drop at the sound of that name, but quickly shook it off. No, it was just a coincidence. Dean was a common name, right? Castiel had long ago given up on ever seeing his freckled, green-eyed former crush anyway. It was stupid, really. He’d only talked to the guy the one time.

Ellen’s cupcakes, Castiel reminded himself. He grabbed two cupcake boxes and quickly filled them with the ones he knew Ellen liked, or at least the ones he’d seen her buy before. Some lemon, some apple crumble, some strawberry crème, some blueberry goat cheese, and a few plain white cupcakes went into each box. He taped the boxes shut and wrapped them once around with grosgrain ribbon.

The bell on the door handle chimed as the front door opened, and Castiel called out a quick “be right with you” as he secured each ribbon with the sticker bearing Gabe’s Angel Foods logo.

“No problem,” the customer called out, and Castiel stopped cold.

He knew that voice. He had heard that voice singing _Dust in the Wind_ , and _The Weight_ , and _Wish You Were Here_. He had heard that voice splutter a few curse words here and there as its owner practiced arpeggios and missed an occasional note. That voice had talked to him, had been the first one to make him feel like New York wasn’t such a rude and crowded and lonely place. Then that voice had said, “See you on Monday.”

Castiel hadn’t realized until later that those words had meant “Goodbye.”

He turned around, heart beating out of his chest. “Dean?”

“Oh, um. Hey. Castiel, right?”

Castiel was torn between feeling flushed and warm at Dean remembering his name, and feeling angry that Dean had left what had become, in wistful retrospection, _their_ street corner with no explanation whatsoever. Never mind the fact that he and Dean were basically nothing more than strangers. Hey, crushes didn’t have to be logical in the slightest.

“Can I help you?” he managed to croak out.

“Yeah, um. My boss, Ellen, called in an order a few minutes ago. Sent me to pick it up.” Dean fidgeted while he talked. Whether it was out of nervous apprehension or awkward embarrassment Castiel couldn’t tell.

“You work at the flower shop?” Castiel didn’t think Dean was the flower shop type; apparently there was a lot about his one-time crush that he didn’t know.

“Yeah. I, um. Can I go ahead and get these cupcakes? It’s just, Ellen has to leave in a few minutes so I’m in kind of a hurry.”

Castiel nodded. “Absolutely.” So there it was; he’d completely misread everything that had transpired between them. Dean hadn’t been interested in Castiel, he was just being friendly to a guy who looked like he needed it. “That’ll be $52.”

Dean handed over the cash and pocketed the change. “Thanks, man.” He grabbed the boxes off the counter and departed without another word.

“Have a nice evening, Dean,” Castiel called out as Dean backed out of the doorway. Since he knew for sure this time that this wasn’t going to lead anywhere, he might as well say goodbye while he had the chance.

“You too, man,” Dean replied with a little half-smile.

“You know him?” Gabe asked as he wandered back from the kitchen.

“Not really,” Castiel responded. “Met him once a few months ago.”

“He’s cute.” Gabriel waggled his eyebrows at his younger brother. “Am I right?”

Castiel shrugged. It didn’t really matter, did it?

 

* * *

 

Finally the last customers were gone and the cases were emptied, the few scattered leftovers stored away to be sold Tuesday morning at half-price. Castiel grabbed the broom from the back as Gabe began turning all the lights off. Just a few minutes of tidying up, and he could head home and sleep in tomorrow. He couldn’t wait.

The shop door opened, the sound of the bell chiming interrupting Castiel’s thoughts. Had Gabe not locked the door? “Sorry, we’re closed,” Castiel called out as he turned around.

“I know. I just wanted to talk to you.” Dean was standing there just inside the doorway, holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a Starbucks cup in the other. “You got a minute?”

“Okay,” Castiel hedged, not really sure what kind of joke was playing out here.

“Look, I just wanted to apologize for earlier. For being kinda short with you. It just, I never expected to see you again, and it kinda took me by surprise.”

Castiel didn’t know what to say. Did that mean that Dean had wanted to see him again?

“I know you don’t really know me, I mean we only talked the one time, really, but I felt like maybe there was something there, and I was gonna ask you out that Monday morning when you got to the bus stop.”

Castiel was speechless.

“It’s just, I got a call the next day. My dad died. I had to fly back home to take care of stuff, and then my boss got pissed that I was gone so long, and he fired me.”

“Dean I’m so sorry.” Castiel pulled out two chairs at the nearest table, and gestured for Dean to sit down. “That’s awful.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault. It was sort of for the best, anyway, because my old boss Crowley was a douche. And Ellen is an old family friend, so she was nice enough to give me a shot. So anyway, I got you these, sort of as an apology for being rude to you earlier.” Dean handed over the bouquet he’d been holding, and pushed the Starbucks cup across the table toward Castiel. “And I got you this, too.”

Castiel didn’t know what to say; this was all sort of overwhelming. He had no idea what the flowers were, but the rainbow of fall colors was beautiful.  Then the writing on the Starbucks cup caught his eye, so he grabbed it and turned it around to see what Dean had ordered for him.

It was a white chocolate mocha. With whipped cream and sprinkles.

Castiel couldn’t breathe. “How did you…”

“You left your coffee at the bus stop that day.” Dean looked down at his lap, cheeks reddening in embarrassment. “I may have taken the cup home with me.”

“You stole my coffee?” Castiel couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped his lips.

“I didn’t steal it, you left it. It’s just, I thought maybe if I brought you another one, sort of as a gift or something, that you would be more likely to say yes to a date with some dumb guy who worked as a janitor and sat on a street corner playing guitar for spending money.”

Castiel didn’t know what to say to that, so instead he reached over, wrapped his hand around Dean’s neck, and kissed him. Dean went completely rigid at first, then sighed against Castiel’s mouth as he dipped his tongue inside. It was perfect, better than anything Castiel had imagined; Dean’s tongue was skillful, and did this thing that made Castiel shiver, and Castiel never wanted it to end.

The sound of a throat clearing behind him shot that down, though. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I interrupt something?” Gabe asked innocently. “You gonna introduce me to your boyfriend, Cas?”

Castiel felt his cheeks heat up at the word “boyfriend,” and was about to rip Gabe a new one for interrupting a Very Important Moment, when Dean spoke up. “I’m Dean. Nice to meet you.”

“Hey, you’re that hottie from earlier. Damn, Cas, you work fast.” Gabe eyed Dean up and down, completely ignoring the way Castiel was glaring back at him. “You be good to him, Dean, or I’ll have you killed. I know a guy.”

Dean just smiled back. “You got it.”

“Alright, you two lovebirds can lock up, right? I’m gonna get out of your hair. Don’t stay out too late, okay Cassie?”

“Yes, Gabe.” Castiel rolled his eyes.

“Okay, now where were we?” Dean winked, caressing his hand along Castiel’s knee.

Castiel leaned in again, bringing his mouth to Dean’s. He took the lead this time, touching his tongue to Dean’s, dipping in further to deepen the kiss, learning the vaguely spicy taste and the velvet heat of Dean’s mouth. He wished he could stay here and do this all night.

Sadly, though, Castiel had other responsibilities. He pulled away with a sigh, threading his fingers through the hair at the nape of Dean’s neck one last time. “You know, we really should lock up and get out of here. Gabe’ll kill me if I keep the lights on any longer than absolutely necessary.” He reluctantly let go of Dean and stood up.

“Hey, that’s cool. Now at least I know where you work, right?”

Castiel hesitated as he began straightening the chairs back below the table. “It’s just, I don’t want to say goodnight to you. Not yet.”

“Well, there’s a pizza place not too far from here that’s open until 1. Wanna grab a bite?”

Castiel smiled. “I’d like that.”

And as he walked hand in hand with Dean to Johnny’s Pizzeria just after 11 p.m. on a Sunday, knowing that he’d have a good two hours to hang out with Dean before the place closed and they’d have to call it a night, Castiel couldn’t help but think to himself that New York was awesome.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a writing prompt from wonderfulwritingprompts.tumblr.com (#200):  
> "The guy was always at the bus stop, playing guitar with his case open for tips, until one day he wasn’t."
> 
> I did live in New York, from 1979 to 1981. I was 5 when we got there and 7 when we left, so I apologize wholeheartedly if I got any details wrong.
> 
> The olive story happened to my mother soon after we moved there.
> 
> Johnny’s Pizzeria was a real place, around the corner from our house in Staten Island. I have no idea if it’s still there.
> 
> I also worked bed control in college (but not in New York). You really do get yelled at all day long, even in the South.


End file.
